


My Mark, Your Hands

by red_crate



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek Hale, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor, Awkward Boners, Getting Together, M/M, Omega Stiles Stilinski, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-05
Updated: 2018-02-05
Packaged: 2019-03-14 08:47:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13586526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/red_crate/pseuds/red_crate
Summary: Stiles is a nontraditional omega looking to make a statement. Derek Hale is willing to help when no one else will.





	My Mark, Your Hands

**Author's Note:**

> All my love to Twisted_Mind for talking over the tattoo with me. <3
> 
> Never let it be said that I am a patient person. This was supposed to be for Sterek Bingo in May, but I wanted to post _now_. Oops.
> 
> Thank you dr_girlfriend for helping me with a few typos! <3 All remaining mistakes are my own.

 

It takes a disappointingly long time to find a tattoo artist that will work with him. He actually goes through three, emailing back and forth before they realize just what exactly he’s asking for. Stiles rolls his eyes after the third time he gets sent _I’m not sure I’m the artist for you_.

Derek is not who he expects to end up with.

For one thing, every other artist Stiles had talked to had either been a beta or an omega. He’d specifically searched out reputable betas and omegas because he’d assumed they would be more open to his request. Fat chance though. Even with the piercings and tattoos and alternative lifestyles, it seemed Stiles wanted to go too far for some of them.

Derek Hale is an alpha and owner of a tattoo parlor two towns over, and had sounded intrigued by Stiles’ idea.

The day he shows up for his appointment, Stiles makes one more silent prayer to anyone listening that this doesn’t end up backfiring in his face. The last thing he is going to put up with is some meathead alpha viewing him as a challenge. It would be especially frustrating if that alpha were seemingly the only person willing to give him this specific tattoo. He’s been mentally preparing for this fight for a while, and he’s already a little exhausted by it.

“Yo, I’m here for a two o’clock with Derek Hale?” Stiles calls out when he reaches the counter. There’s no one waiting for him, so he dings the little bell next to the register and rocks back and forth on his heels. “Hello?”

A man comes from one of the rooms in the back of the building. He’s dressed in a dark green henley with the sleeves pushed up to expose script tattooed on the insides of one forearm. Stiles drags his eyes over the man, thinking _oh shit_ before he reaches the guy’s face and sees just how fucking gorgeous he is. Sharp jaw covered with a short cropped, dark beard and piercing hazel eyes.

“Uh…” Stiles knows his mouth is open, but for a second he can’t remember how to close it.

“Are you Stiles.” It comes out as a sentence more than a question, and Stiles instinctively knows this must be Derek Hale.

The closer he gets, the stronger the man’s scent is—all alpha and confidence.

Miraculously, Stiles is able to gather his wits enough to answer. “Yup.” He pops the ‘p’ at the end of the word before continuing. “That’s me. Here for my tattoo appointment. At two. Which is is now.” He points uselessly at the clock on the wall.

Derek looks him up and down once, not lingering or showing any real interest in what he sees. Stiles tells himself that’s a good thing—no, it’s a _great_ thing—because they’re about to get up close and personal with each other considering their genders.

A smile seems to pull at Derek’s face as he sets a clipboard onto the counter in front of Stiles. “You need to fill this out, and I need your ID so I can make a copy.”

It takes less than two minutes to fill out the health form and read over the care practices sheet. He hands over the clipboard as Derek gives his ID back. And then Derek is tapping on a tablet screen and bringing up the simple sketch they'd agree on earlier this week.

“You're still good with this?” He flips the tablet over and hands it to Stiles before stepping back.

Stiles catches the movement and knows what it is—a conscious gesture to alleviate any perceived pressure from an alpha onto an omega. It's nice, and it's especially nice to see from the guy who is going to be permanently marking his skin in a few minutes. Stiles looks at the image on the screen, excitement starting to blossom anew at the realization that he's finally going to do this.

He smiles up at Derek. “Yeah, that's it.”

With a nod, Derek takes the tablet back. “Okay, I'm going to make the stencil now, and you can look at it again before we apply it. I know you said you were going to shave before you came, but if you want to make sure you got everything, there's stuff in the bathroom.”

Stiles did shave this morning. He doesn't usually need to shave but once every week or so. Still, he remembers the tip he read online about clearing the area of all hair and dead skin cells before putting on the stencil. So he goes into the bathroom, appreciative of the privacy, and uses the sterile, disposable shaver and an individual pack of shave cream.

When he’s finished, Derek is still in the office. It's then that Stiles notices the citrus undercutting Derek's scent, lingering in his wake. It's subtle, and Stiles finds himself leaning just a fraction forward as if he can follow the trail to more of it. He coughs, embarrassed at himself.

Now is most definitely not the time to get interested in anyone. Much less this alpha in particular.

Once the stencil is made, Derek hands that over as well, directing him into yet another room. This one must be where Derek actually does his work. It's small, the chair taking up most of the space, and smells overwhelmingly of him. There is a floor length mirror on the back of the door that Derek shows him.

“Rub some of this around your neck and place the stencil where you want it.” He points to a small vat of oily looking material. Then he turns away and busies himself with getting the tattoo gun and ink ready.

Stiles has thought about this moment a lot. He's even photoshopped pictures of himself with different designs to see what he liked best. Still, standing in the tattoo parlor and putting the stencil on himself is a whole new experience. His hands are shaking with nerves.

“Can you...I just want to make sure it's straight all the way around.” Stiles asks finally.

Derek looks at him in the mirror before waving him over. When Stiles gets closer, he he can smell a hint of unease coming from him. Derek stays seated instead of standing up while he helps. Even sitting, he can reach up easily enough and help guide Stiles’ fingers.

He gets it. The whole situation is awkward. Under normal circumstances, an alpha placing anything like this around the neck of an omega would _mean something_. Which is exactly why Stiles is doing what he's doing.

He might be an omega, and he might want a stable relationship one day—maybe even with an alpha—but he's tired of being looked at like an inanimate prize to be won and owned.

Derek's fingers are light when they press at Stiles’ hand. He looks up at Stiles when the paper of the stencil is completely pressed down. “Check again. I want you to be completely happy with the placement.”

Stiles has to force himself to move away. He reminds himself that Derek is a professional. He's got a great rating on Yelp, and almost all of the reviews mention his discretion and dedication to detail.

As predicted, the stencil placement is perfect. When Stiles sits down on the client chair, Derek has black examination gloves on, and he carefully pulls the paper off to reveal the ink on Stiles’ skin. Stiles looks away from Derek’s hands.

“It's going to look pretty badass.” He murmurs, shocking Stiles. Derek's eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles. “I told my sister, Cora, about it and she's mad she didn't think of it first.”

Derek's words pull Stiles out of the spiral of anxiety that has been slowly building up. He wants to do this, but he knows it's gonna hurt and he's going to bleed. Those things, Stiles is not really looking forward to.

“Yeah?” He asks as he adjusts how he's sitting. There's no way this isn't going to be a super awkward and uncomfortable experience.

Derek nods. “Yeah, she's nontraditional too.” He says it like it's a point of pride, smiling softly to himself before meeting Stiles’ eyes.

“I’m going to touch you now, okay? So you can get used to it. If anything feels weird about it, tell me.” Derek's voice is soft, completely non threatening.

Stiles takes a deep breath. “Go for it. It's what I'm here for.”

He immediately regrets being born. His ears turn red. Derek doesn't call him an idiot, but Stiles gets the distinct impression that he would like to.

“Oh.” Stiles startles even though he knew the touch was coming. “So you're just gonna…”

Derek's hands are large, a fact that Stiles has been ignoring since the moment he handed Stiles that clipboard. With the gloves on, there won't be any scent transference, which Stiles is thankful for. He doesn't want to go home smelling like the alpha that tattooed him. Derek is careful and keeps his touch just firm enough not to tickle.

Groaning internally, Stiles can't help but think he's going to combust before this is over. Derek is attractive and nice, and proud of his non traditional sister. It's like Derek was built specifically to push all of Stiles’ buttons. At this point, he's actually starting to look forward to the sting of the needle to distract him. When Derek's thumb brushes against his jaw he swallows.

“Alright. Do you want to start on the back or the front first?” Derek asks a few seconds later. He swipes his finger just below the symbol on his stencil.

“The back.” Stiles leans his head forward and twists in the chair to expose the back of his neck.

“No. Here. Get up for a second.” Derek says before messing with some levers. The chair folds out into a flat surface. “Get comfortable.”

Stiles eyeballs the chair. He should have thought this through. “Okay.”

It takes a few seconds, but Stiles ends up with his arms crossed and his forehead pressed to them so his face is hidden. The paper below him crinkles just the same as it does at the doctor office. This will be over and done with soon. At least he can't see Derek right now.

That's an odd comfort, honestly.

Music starts playing over hidden speakers, alternative rock that is bland enough that Stiles can float on the rhythm. A buzzing starts up and Stiles closes his eyes tightly. He's going to be okay. It's going to take a good hour or so to finish the whole thing, Derek had warned him. After that, the pain will be gone, and he'll have something he's been wanting for a long time.

“Here goes,” Derek says quietly. One hand spans the length of his neck, fingers pressing into his shoulder lightly. Then the first touch of the needle hits Stiles.

It stings. _Insistently_.

Stiles does his best to keep from jerking away, and he succeeds well enough. He'd read that the sensation is a lot like a bee stinging, just one that goes on and on and on. And some people like this, enough to become addicted to it?

Stiles sucks in a breath.

“This is your first?” Derek asks from above him.

“Yeah.” Stiles almost nods but catches himself in time. He doesn't want to be a difficult client by moving around too much. And he really doesn't want to jostle the tattoo gun too much and end up with a stray line or something. “First and probably last. My best friend has a few of them though.”

“You decided to go big.” Derek sounds like he's amused, and it doesn't do anything to Stiles at all. “This sort of thing takes guts. I'm surprised it's your first.”

Snorting, Stiles says, “I guess. The three other artists I talked to before you seemed to think so.” He frowns as he thinks about the way they had declined his business after he explained what he wanted.

Derek is quiet for a beat, stopping to get more ink. “Well, I'm happy to be doing this for you. Like I said, one of my sisters is an omega. We were raised to be our own people. And if that's doing things the less conventional way, then so be it.”

“Cora?” He prompts, trying to ignore the butterflies setting up shop in his stomach. “I'm an only child.”

Derek makes an affirmative sound. “She’s one of them. I had two—a beta and an omega sister. My mom liked to joke that she ‘collected them all.’”

Stiles chuckles at that. He'd probably make the same joke, to be honest. Listening to the fond quality of Derek's voice helps drown out the stinging of the tattoo process. It's not as bad as he'd been preparing himself for.

He wonders if Derek is purposely trying to distract him from the pain. It's a good tactic.

“I think my parents saw what they ended up with and decided to quit while they were ahead. I mean, I'm a handful—always have been.”

He shifts slowly so Derek can see that he wants to readjust. Then he pulls one arm down so he can turn his head to the side.

“Trouble maker?” Derek assumes.

“What makes you say that?” He teases back, knowing full well that the tattoo in question is as good an indication as anything. “Yeah, I used to get into all kinds of stuff, mostly harmless except for that one time I borrowed a prisoner transport from the my dad's station.” He snickers.

Derek chuckles above him. “I'm sure that went over well.”

Stiles hisses when the gun hits a particularly sensitive area. He knows Derek is doing the outline before he fills it in, but he swears it feels like so much more. Mortification twists in his stomach when he realizes he's starting to get turned on despite... because of?...the pain.

“About as well as you would expect.” He forces the words out, hoping his scent isn't giving him away. Goosebumps spread over his skin.

He hadn’t expected having this reaction.

Derek hums quietly. “Grounded for eternity?”

Stiles swallows, mouth gone a bit dry. “Basically. Plus unofficial community service so I would learn my lesson.” Talking about his childhood exploits helps stay the arousal zinging through his system at least. “I had to tutor some middle schoolers for a semester. But it looked good on my transcript at least.”

Derek gets quiet, most likely caught up in his work. Stiles has his head turned so that his neck is still stretched enough for Derek to work. It brings his eyesight to Derek’s torso and lap. He can’t help but stare at Derek’s jean-clad thighs, broad where Derek’s legs are splayed apart as he sits on the stool. After another minute of rather comfortable silence, Stiles carefully turns his head back down so he can’t be tempted to leer any more. Derek is just doing his job, and there is no reason to make this weirder than it needs to be.

The pain dulls a little as Stiles’ body adjusts to it, but it’s definitely _there_. He grits his teeth when the needle moves to a new section, closer to the side of his neck now. The arousal that had sprung up is like an ember burning in his chest now, making him too-warm. Stiles closes his eyes and pictures roadkill and snow drifts—anything to keep his scent from telling Derek exactly what he’s feeling.

“You can sit up now.” Derek says a little bit later as he wipes at Stiles’ skin with a cotton wad. “The rest will be easier that way.”

Stiles clears his throat and does as Derek suggested, glancing over to the mirror when he stands up. His neck is flushed, and he can see part of the tattoo in the reflection. A thrill shoots through him at the sight. It’s really happening.

“Sit.” Derek tells Stiles. He’s busy changing his gloves after fixing the chair so Stiles can sit comfortably again.

It’s the first command Derek has given, and Stiles rolls his eyes at himself when he shivers. The reaction is just because his body is overstimulated from the tattoo, all the adrenaline and anxiety clashing together to make Stiles more of a cliche than he wants to be. Still, Stiles finds himself quickly melting down into the chair and tilting his head to expose his neck for Derek—for the tattoo gun.

Derek rolls his stool back over and looks Stiles in the eye. “Still good?” He raises his eyebrows.

“Sure thing, chicken wing.” Stiles chokes the words out, and Derek snorts. “Uh, how much longer until this is over? I mean, until it’s finished?”

Derek picks up the gun again. “Not too much longer. But we’re getting to the more sensitive areas, so you might need a break.” With his other hand, he takes hold of Stiles’ chin and holds his head still.

Stiles closes his eyes and swallows again, Adam’s apple brushing against Derek’s palm.

 _Not much longer. Not much longer_. Stiles mentally chants the words to himself. He clings to the assurance, because Stiles is definitely not getting any less turned on now that Derek’s hand is practically spanning his throat and he’s close enough that he can feel Derek’s breath on his skin.

The buzzing starts back up, and Stiles clenches his eyes shut tightly as he tenses in anticipation. Instead of the sharp stinging pain, he gets Derek’s gloved thumb sweeping soothingly over his jaw bone.

“Relax.” Derek’s voice is quiet.

When Stiles takes a deep breath, he is hit with Derek’s scent all over again, but it’s almost comforting. He consciously relaxes his shoulders and unclenches his jaw, blinking. “Sorry,” he apologizes, eyes downcast as goosebumps roll across his skin again.

Derek’s fingers twitch, but he doesn’t let go. “It’s okay. I’m going to start again. Tell me if you need a break.”

This time, Stiles sounds more sure of himself at least. “Yeah. Thanks.” He looks at Derek who is impossibly close. “Go ahead.”

He watches Derek wet his bottom lip and shift to bring the tattoo gun back up. Derek’s attention drops back down to Stiles’ neck. It’s the side with the omega symbol.

Stiles looks away.

It hurts all over again as the needle bites into his skin over and over, but Stiles still feels the telltale tendrils of electricity sparking along his spine. The needle works over Stiles’ jugular—the place a mating bite would go if he ever actually mates someone—and his cock takes interest. It’s just biology or something that is mistaking the sting of the tattoo process for the cut of an alpha’s mating bite, but Stiles can’t help it when his ass clenches around nothing.

He’s fully turned on now, and Stiles never thought he’d be into pain like this.

Derek sits back and sucks in a breath. “Uh, I think a break is a good idea.” He doesn’t meet Stiles’ eyes when he pulls away to take off his gloves and stands up. “Do you want some water?” He doesn’t wait on a response before ducking out of the room for a minute.

“Great.” Stiles mutters to himself and bangs the back of his head against the headrest. “Ow.” He frowns when the movement makes his neck move wrong and the raw skin there prickle.

He’s gone and made things even more awkward. Stiles takes the chance to push down at his crotch and the slight chub he has going on. The pressure feels good, but he tries not to touch too much and adjusts so it isn’t as obvious. As if Derek can’t smell the desire on Stiles.

Ugh.

“Here.” Derek appears again, and Stiles’ hands scramble to clutch at the arm rests.

Stiles belatedly takes the offered water bottle, thankful for a reason to keep his trap shut. He chugs the water down. He’s suddenly parched and the cool water feels good sliding down his throat.

He hears Derek quietly sigh. It sounds frustrated. Stiles hurries to twist the lid back on. “Uh, sorry. I was thirstier than I thought. Thank you.” He waves to his neck with his free hand. “We can continue.”

Derek plucks a new pair of gloves from a box on his work bench. “It’s cool. You’re not the first person to get turned on during the process.” Stiles could swear there’s a slight blush on Derek’s bearded cheeks.

Stiles blushes himself, no hiding it at all. “Oh. Yeah, bodies reacting to stimuli and proximity, I guess.” He giggles, before groaning at himself. “But yeah. Sorry. I promise not to ravish you. Ha ha.”

Derek cuts a look over at Stiles and scoots back over on his stool. “Right.”

“Awkward,” Stiles whispers before he can stop himself.

“No. It’s fine. It is.” Derek clears his throat. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.” He hesitates before taking Stiles’ jaw back in hand. “We’re good.”

Even after drinking half a bottle of water, Stiles’ mouth feels suddenly dry. He licks his lips quickly. He can feel each of Derek’s fingertips against his skin, firm but not too firm. “Do it.”

Derek holds his gaze for a second before he shakes his head as if clearing his mind. Stiles flushes again when he realizes he might just be having a similar effect on Derek that the alpha is having on him. It’s gratifying.

Stiles tilts his head a little more than he has to, and Derek brings the tattoo gun up. The pain is instantaneous, each bite of the needle a singular thing Stiles can almost count. His heart rate quickens, and he can feel his nipples tighten under his shirt in reaction.

Maybe this was a bad idea.

Derek’s fingers flex before his hand slips back to the opposite side he’s working on. When his palm presses against the skin below Stiles’ ear, Stiles arches up in the chair. Derek follows him with the gun, pulling back so that the needle doesn’t go outside the stencil.

“You’re doing good, Stiles,” Derek’s voice is deeper, and it feels like he’s _closer_. “Sit still for me.”

Stiles whimpers faintly. He’s completely hard now, and he can feel the slick gathering in his ass. It takes everything in him to keep from squirming. But he doesn’t move—not because Derek told him to, but because he doesn’t want to fuck up his tattoo.

“Almost done.” Derek’s fingers thread through the shorter hair at the base of Stiles’ neck until his palm is cupping the base of his skull. “The front won’t be as intense.”

“If you say so.” Stiles sounds breathy to his own ears. When he looks over at Derek, he sees the intensity in Derek’s eyes as he works. It’s a lot.

When they had been emailing, Derek had suggested breaking up that tattoo into two sessions. Stiles regrets pushing to do it all at once. Sure, he would have hated walking around with the outline for a week or so, but he wouldn’t be sitting in this chair for so long if he’d agreed.

The front of his neck is less sensitive, but in order to work on the tattoo, Stiles has to sit facing Derek with Derek sitting between his spread legs in order to get close enough. Stiles keeps his gaze firmly trained on the wall behind Derek’s head, counting empty nail holes in the painted over plaster. If he didn’t do that, then he would be thinking about how little effort it would take to slide off the chair and onto those strong looking thighs of Derek’s.

Stiles is fidgety though, and he needs something to _do_. So instead of bouncing his leg like he wants, he starts talking.

“How many tattoos do you have?” That seems like a safe enough and reasonable enough topic. He fleetingly meets Derek’s eyes.

Derek pauses before answering. “Two. One on my back and the one on my arm.” He juts his left elbow out to indicate the arm with the script tattoo Stiles had noticed earlier.

“Do you mind telling me about them?” Stiles feels nervous—more nervous than he’s already been feeling—at asking that. Derek could easily tell him no, even if the topic of tattoos seems like fair game considering their situation.

“They’re both related to family. The one on my back is a triskelion. It’s kind of a family symbol. The one on my arm is of my sisters' names.” Derek answers easily.

Stiles nods as much as he can. Damn it. This really isn’t helping ease the crush/lust he has for Derek. “Family’s pretty important to you, huh?”

“Yes.” Derek pauses. “I don’t have much of it left anymore, so what I do have, I like to keep close.”

Stiles’ heart aches a little in empathy.

“My dad is pretty much all I have now. My mom died when I was little, and I didn’t grow up around any extended family.” He looks back at Derek. “Gotta hold on to what you got, right?” Stiles smiles tightly.

Derek’s thumb brushes back and forth along the skin behind Stiles’ ear. It’s comforting. Stiles can smell the faint grief on Derek from discussing family. All the sudden, he wants to climb into Derek’s lap and hug him.

They fall into silence again. Stiles’ lust is mostly under control by now, cock only half hard. He’s not even leaking anymore, though he still feels a little like the wrong brush of Derek’s breath across his skin will send him careening right back over the edge. When it’s time to circle to the other side of Stiles’ neck, Derek rolls his stool over. Stiles can sit back again and close his legs, which is a relief as much as it’s almost a disappointment.

Then Derek starts tattooing over his jugular again. He inhales sharply at the sensation. “Fuck.”

Derek chuckles quietly. “Sorry.”

Stiles twists his head as far as he can without disturbing Derek’s progress to give him a look. “Sure.” He sighs. “I really thought I was over this.”

Derek wipes at his skin where blood and ink have smeared. “It happens to a lot of people.” He’s quiet as he finishes wiping at Stiles’ neck before he goes back to tattooing. “I can’t say I’m completely unaffected here, after all.” His gaze briefly drops down to his own lap, and Stiles is almost obligated to look down as well.

There is a noticeable bulge in the front of Derek’s jeans. It looks uncomfortable. It looks _big_. Stiles swallows and looks back up at Derek’s face.

“That happen often?” Stiles asks. It’s bold, but Stiles isn’t really great at subtlety. Derek smells interested, even if it’s not overly strong in his scent right now. Stiles doesn’t mind if it’s merely a physical reaction to their positions.

It feels nice to have someone interested in him, even if it doesn’t go anywhere.

Stiles can’t help but think about what Derek must look like under his jeans though. Derek’s hand is large, and it’s holding Stiles carefully by the crown of his head. When he closes his eyes, Stiles can easily imagine what it would be like if he were on his knees for Derek.

“Sometimes,” Derek breathes, barely audible over the music and the buzz of the tattoo gun.

Stiles doesn’t know how Derek is managing to keep his hand steady on the gun, but he’s thankful.

Derek speaks again, just as quietly. “You have a nice neck.”

Stiles bites his lip to keep from letting out a nervous laugh. His heart is racing. One little compliment shouldn’t be making Stiles want to strip down and offer himself over, but Stiles is feeling it anyway. He shifts in the seat, holding back a groan when his jeans rub just right over his hardening cock.

Eventually—probably a little too late—Stiles says, “Thanks.” It’s dumb, but he doesn’t know what else to say. Actually, there’s plenty he’d like to say, but he _shouldn’t_ say any of that. He jolts in the chair when the needle slowly moves from the hypersensitive area around his artery.

Derek makes a deep, approving sound, but his hand leaves the top of Stiles’ head.

Stiles misses it acutely.

“I think we’re done.” Derek says a few minutes later. He cleans up more blood and ink before moving out of the way so Stiles can stand up.

It’s uncomfortable, and Stiles hopes he hasn’t wet through the seat of his pants. But Derek busies himself with cleaning up his workbench. Stiles uses the opportunity to adjust his jeans before walking towards the mirror.

He sucks in a deep breath when he sees himself. It’s nothing like looking at a clumsy photoshopped version of hismelf. His skin is still blotchy from irritation, but the tattoo looks _good_.

Two thin, simple black bands wrap around his throat where a collar would go. Some people choose tattoos over traditional collars, but those tattoos still generally have an alpha’s name or  an alpha’s family symbol along the the artery. Stiles has chosen to have the omega symbol tattooed there instead.

Derek comes up behind him with a hand mirror so Stiles can see the back of his neck in the mirror. The lines are steady and straight, completely even in thickness all the way around.

“I love it.” Stiles stares at the tattoo. He feels elated at the physical reminder that he makes his own decisions. Eventually, he meets Derek’s gaze in the mirror. “Thank you.”

Stiles watches as Derek looks him over slowly and takes a long, deep breath. “I’m glad you like it.”

Turning around, Stiles rocks back and forth on his heels. “Um, so if it’s not too weird…” He clears his throat. “Would you like to get coffee sometime or something?”

Derek is quiet for a second, but before he can really answer, Stiles is already talking again. “It’s cool if you want to say no. Or have to say no because of work reasons.”

“No,” Derek cuts him off. “I mean, no, I’m not saying no.” Derek smiles a little, flustered. “I thought maybe you weren’t actually into alphas, what with the tattoo and all.”

Stiles grins, excited. “Hey, as long as you aren’t looking to try and collar me any time soon, I’m definitely into you.” He shrugs. “I like alphas plenty. I just don’t like the way a lot of you treat omegas.”

Stiles says the last part because it’s true, but also because it’s a test. He knows there’s potential between the two of them. He wants to make sure that it’s not simply a physical potential though.

Derek nods. “Fair enough.” He smiles this gorgeous thing that completely transforms his face from smoldering hotness to playful openness. “I’m sure if I tried making you do anything you didn’t like, you’d put me in my place.”

“My dad’s a sheriff. I know how to hide the body.” Stiles winks at him, feeling giddy all over.

“Consider myself warned.” Derek pulls his phone out of his pocket and types something in before handing it over. “Can I have your number now?”

Stiles takes the phone. It’s opened to a new contact, and Derek has already typed in “Trouble” where Stiles’ name should go. He can’t stop smiling as he enters his phone digits.

Derek Hale is definitely not who he expected.

**Author's Note:**

> If you wanna come hang out with me on Tumblr, I'm [here](http://the-redcrate.tumblr.com).


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